


Order can come from love

by Ringshadow



Series: Packhouse [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternative Relationships, Brock's perspective more or less, HYDRA are dickheads, M/M, Peirce is a terrible human being, love is all you need, more cussing than is ever necessary but try telling them that, not needed to understand Packhouse but Packhouse needed to understand this, pack synergy, platonic, sad confused boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: A coda for Brock Rumlow and Steve Rogers.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow
Series: Packhouse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859101
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Order can come from love

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea. I wrote this over the course of two days. I'm probably more confused than you are.
> 
> But Brock needed a hug, god dammit.

_Order only comes from pain._

That had been hammered into Brock Rumlow’s head, on a somewhat disturbingly literal level, since he was stolen away, supposedly for reorientation but it became subversion. HYDRA. Surgery. An implant in his skull dealing out punishment and putting up a fracture between him and other dogs. And he has to learn to act like it’s fine, and act like he doesn’t know what he now does, even as his life gets steadily worse. For a while, he’s on the borderline of being a believer. Of just stepping off that cliff edge and giving in and eating the hate. It’d be easier, it’d be so much easier not to fight after all. Even with Peirce treating him like he does. Even with seeing the Soldier suffer and knowing it’s Bucky Barnes.

Acceptance would have made his life easier.

Then Captain Steve Rogers was found, and his life turned upside down.

* * *

It had been Phil Coulson holding him back from the brink, unknowingly. Phil was a force in his own right and didn’t even know it, a person who made the dogs suborned by HYDRA silently acknowledge their fucked-up position. Even the true-believers begrudgingly knew Phil had power just because Phil was absolutely devoted to their people.

Captain America was a supernova.

It was like he’d been trapped in a dark basement and someone had punched through and now a ray of light, bright and pure and sterilizing, was shining down into his hell. And he couldn’t climb out but he could reach for it and realize, suddenly, that he wanted out.

He didn’t know how to get out.

* * *

He’s stunned he survives.

His world is pain-washed and suffering driven and Peirce’s death and Phil’s screaming, Captain-loud synergy all scrambles his brain, and in that second he can break free and try to help so that his last actions are that of loyalty, of being the Captain’s dog for real, because he’d been acting that part and it’d been so easy to act that part because he’d wanted it more than anything else in his rotten, godforsaken life.

Garrett had mocked him. Rollins had only patted his shoulder.

No one mentioned love because he was certain he couldn’t do that. It was just something else stolen from him by HYDRA, another way he was broken. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to be touched, anymore. He’d long stopped finding any solace or comfort in sex, everything tainted and poisoned by Peirce.

He lived and maybe he shouldn’t have. He saved Sam Wilson and then Sam Wilson saved him because Sam doesn’t let him just collapse and give up and let the base come down on top of him, Sam picked him up and supported him and walked him out, even as his life feels like shrapnel and the synergy network feels like glass shards. His voice is as much wreckage as the rest of him but he told Sam to find Phil Coulson. Coulson, still on site and alive and something else, something HYDRA didn’t see coming. If Steve Rogers was the north star then Phil was right next to him in the constellation.

He survives. His injuries push him to the top of the triage list. He’s packed out in an ambulance at the same time as Rogers and Rollins climbs on with him, holds the hand that isn’t hurting and tells the EMTs about how to care for an injured dog. He would have been panicking, if he hadn’t been pushed to the limit. But he closed his eyes and breathed, and knew that no matter what, these breaths belonged to a free dog. The control on him was broken, the chip in his head silent, dead weight.

And that was enough, until he woke up.

* * *

Brock woke up all at once, whole body jerking with it then sucking in air against pain as his body tallied injuries and reported back. The adrenaline had long, long drained away along with the blissful cushion of brain chemistry the attack dog serum had flooded him with in response to injury. He’d woke up rough, rough enough to not hide he was awake, so he opened his eyes and tried to really take stock.

“It’s early.” Jack, sprawled on a chair by the bed. “Still before dawn.”

“Rollins.” His voice was a rusty croak. “What the fuck, man.” His face was bandaged, enough that one eye was covered. Breathing sucked, he probably had broken ribs. His arm was in a civilian-style cast. “The fuck are we?”

“Hospital. Not SHIELD, civilian.” Jack leaned and turned the room lights on, not apologizing as Brock winced and cursed at the light, hand lifting to rub his face. “Careful, you’re about half ground chuck and the rest of you isn’t all that great either.”

“Right. Sitrep.”

“The carriers fell but, no disaster. The Triskelion is still standing. HYDRA is on the run. Commander Rogers is alive and down the hall. There’s probably a dozen dogs guarding this floor right now, to the horror of the hospital staff.” Jack offered him a glass of water with a straw, watching him drink. “Romanov knocked Coulson on his ass because he was working himself past exhaustion. Hill’s in charge right now. She sent orders to shut the fuck up and do what the doctors tell us, but under no circumstance are we to allow any sort of law enforcement to take us anywhere, or even to answer their questions.”

“She is such a hardcore bitch.”

“Yeah, she’s great, thank fuck she’s not a dog.”

“Yeah. So where do we stand?”

“No one has a fucking clue.”

Brock groaned and flopped back from the lean he’d shoved himself up into to drink, staring at the ceiling. “So it’s a complete cluster.”

“It could have been so much worse.”

“Peirce would have had the Soldier execute us the second HYDRA’s scheme was pulled off.”

“Hard way to break up with a man.”

“Oh, fuck you.” He’s too tired to put the proper amount of acid into it. “You know how that really was.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Fuck him, he’s dead, someday soon we can piss on his grave.”

“Now that’s proper motivation. How fucked up am I?”

Jack sucked in a breath. “I won’t lie boss. This is not fucking good.”

“Is this my service end?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know if we’re still going to be in service. No one knows. But we were both already close to the end and … you have multiple broken ribs and a broken arm. Burns, cuts. Several bullet grazes. You were past exhaustion. I’m going to be bold and say your serum is still active right now, but this place doesn’t exactly have the ability to actually look into it.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, staring from below his brows. “But if you think you’re walking away from the rest of us that made it you can eat shit.”

He burst into laughter and ignored the pain that rocked his torso from it. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not going to walk away over these flesh wounds, you know that.”

“You have serious actual injuries, you asshole.”

“You can call them that when you tell me in sitrep that you stole me back from the fucking reaper.”

“I’d break his skeletal fingers if he so much as dared to touch you.”

“My knight in shining armor.”

“Hah. Before you ask, Rogers is about as chewed up as you are, but he’ll heal just fine. The Falcon Project survivor is keeping watch over him.”

“Sam Wilson I think.”

“Sounds right.”

“You fuckin alluding that Rogers is actually my knight in armor?”

“You said it, not me.”

Any good-natured fuck-yous that Brock had about that was cut of because a nurse appeared in the doorway, regarding them both. “Well. Glad to see you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“I gotta be honest, I’m less than optimal right now.”

She actually seemed amused by that response, and came in to give him a look-over before leaving to get the doctor on duty. The doctor told him mostly the same things that Jack had, and bluntly admitted that they weren’t really set up for caring for dogs, and now the wing was full of them. SHIELD had always looked after their own and it had always been proprietary. Getting a bunch of injured government agents that ran on serums had sent the hospital staff searching for protocols they in fact didn’t have and they’d had to rely on the dogs playing guard duty to give them cliff’s notes about pain killer dosage and tolerances and changed pain thresholds.

Probably the hospital not having some basic procedures in place was a complete oversight, in retrospect, but half wake and aching, Brock couldn’t be bothered to care about that admin shit, right in that moment. He was stable, but the hospital intended to keep him another day because apparently, Maria had asked the hospital to release everyone at the same time as Rogers if possible to minimize potential security problems and hopefully prevent the media from getting any scoops.

He could only nod, and tell Jack to get some fuckin’ rest, before passing back out under a fresh round of painkillers.

* * *

Nothing prepared him for the wave of emotion he felt when he saw Steve Rogers in a hospital bed.

He was on his feet, wearing scrubs and no longer on an IV, but still bandaged up. Showered at least though, and with lighter bandaging on his face that didn’t cover his eye. He’d kept that eye, somehow. The doctors told him it had been fucking close, for a while, and he decided to just be grateful for that. Grateful for anything that means he could still be useful and still have purpose. And yeah, fuck it, he knows that’s twisted thinking too but, he’s not sure he’s got anything else anymore.

Steve looked beat to shit but alive and sitting up and tired. Probably tired of being bothered too, there’s so many dogs on this floor whose only current leadership is Coulson via twitter and Hill via text that hadn’t happened in twenty-four hours, so Steve’s it, whether he likes it or not. And Brock can’t stay away, hell he’s stunned he lasted this long, and seeing Steve in a hospital bed just about buckled his knees as the reality of his betrayal hammered him again.

“Rumlow.” Steve actually looked happy to see him and that only made it worse, and he half staggered into the room before dropping to one knee next to the bed, head bowed and one arm bracing on the side of Steve’s bed because he’s hurt, fucking dammit, he needs the support. “Brock, what…”

“I am so. So, fucking sorry. And I know that will never, ever fucking be enough to make up for my betrayal, I know that can never be paid back. But it’s all I’ve got right now.” The words dumped out of him, keeping his head down and his eyes on the floor, shaking.

“For fuck’s sake, stand up, soldier!” Steve flared. “Consider that an order, Rumlow!”

It takes him a moment but he managed it and managed something like parade rest too, only not cringing away because it’s Rogers.

“I know! I know you were forced. I know a lot of you were. Do not apologize to me. You’re no more at fault than Bucky is for being the Soldier. You don’t think it’s his fault do you?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not his fault. The things they did to him, no. None of it’s his fault.”

“Then it isn’t your fault either.”

He honestly didn’t know what to say to that.

“I know you’re a tough as nails son of a bitch who would have broken those chains if you had even a single chance to do it before you did. Am I wrong?” Steve had moved to sit on the edge of the bed and was scowling up at him, which put him close enough Brock could feel his body heat radiating.

“No sir.”

“Then you did what you could. I trust you. Understood? Don’t give me that fucking face. I need good fucking men in my pocket right now and I think you qualify.”

“Uh.” He blinked. “I’m not entirely convinced that I’m not dreaming this at this point.”

Steve snorted and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Let’s just assume you’re not.”

“Fair.”

“I don’t think you ever willingly lied to me and I think you told me everything you could without dooming yourself. I think you went out of your way for me and now that shit’s over, you’re coming me thinking I’m going to, what? Send you away, punish you, what? Do you take me for anything like the craven barbarous assholes who used you?”

“No. No you’re nothing like them.” He doesn’t even need to think about that.

“Brock, you were one of the first ones I really saw after I woke up. You chased then you ran with me and you kept up. I need someone who can keep up because we have work to do. I trust your guidance to help me find people who aren’t betrayers.”

“I’m… not sure I’ll be able to keep up anymore, sir.”

“Steve. Call me Steve. This is not what I would call an official fuckin’ briefing.”

That made him smile a little. “Steve. I’m fucked up. I’m fucked up bad and I was already at the end of my service life. I don’t know what my serum status is but I might be burned up.”

“So we cross that bridge when we come to it. Sounds like you still have your brains and you were on the inside for however long, which means you have a target list in your head for me. The point is I need some good dogs to help me. Can you be that for me?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure I want anything else.”

“Okay.”

And Steve acted like it was totally settled, and everything help him Brock had no idea what the hell had just happened. But when everyone discharged from the hospital not that long later and Steve was heading for New York, Brock was on the plane with him as well as a group of dogs that he individually chose. Steve didn’t care he was old, and hurt, beyond telling Brock to let him know what his limits are and to not overwork himself.

Brock doesn’t understand anything anymore. Maybe HYDRA broke that too. Who knows.

And yeah, okay. Shit gets weird. Coulson is alive and making trouble for the right people and apparently wanting to put together a private security firm with some of the dogs, which okay, Brock could work with that. But Coulson also immediately dumps him, and his strike teams, back into Steve’s lap and consigns them as Captain America’s dogs. They’re Steve’s men, officially. His backup.

Brock bluescreens just a bit at the sheer potential of that, but the world just keeps tilting weirdly on its axis. The Kingsmen show up in short order, or one does, and yet another world takeover plot is dumped into their lap and thwarted. Cell phones causing global riots, fucking really.

Oh, and at some point Coulson married Hawkeye. Because of course.

Brock wants to sleep a thousand years.

* * *

Tony Stark, human whirlwind, managed to put together a machine to check serum status disturbingly quickly. The design is in the SHIELD data dump anyway, he told them flippantly. Just a matter of finding and building the stupid thing.

Brock’s better off than he thought he was. Not completely burned up, he still has service life left, but not a lot. He can make it enough, and told Steve he wants to spend what’s left dealing payback to HYDRA. He’s not sure what he was expecting as a reaction, a clap on the shoulder, a welcome-back soldier comment? Instead Steve just stared at him and looked sad before offering a hand out. He met the gesture without question, clapping hands and stepping in to lean foreheads but instead he was yanked into a full body hug. He jerked in shock, but Steve held on and he melted, bone by sore tired bone, eyes slowly shutting as his arms moved to return the hold. Then Steve turned his head and their temples touched and yeah okay, if he could just stay here forever in this hold and the baptism of Steve’s synergy, he’ll be fine, thanks.

Then he’s let go, just as quickly as it started, and Steve looked at him with concerned eyes. “I’m happy to have you along. Hell, it’s what I told you in the hospital. I need men I can trust, you count, and I know you’re a strike team leader for a lot of damn good reasons. But I think we need to figure out how to live too.”

“You’ve been talking to Coulson.”

“Well, Phil’s not wrong about that. Speaking of which he’s got targets for us, intel from Grant Ward that he’s confirmed. We can move as soon as tonight.”

“I’ll be ready to ship out.” He watched Steve go, and realized with a weird twist in his chest, how utterly fucking screwed he is.

* * *

“You got a minute?”

“Have you slept?” Phil started pouring a second mug of coffee without comment. “I know you just got back from an op, I was listening to the whole thing.”

“So you haven’t slept either.” Brock pointed out, amused.

“I napped. What’s up?”

“I think I am in love with Steve Rogers and I have no idea what the fuck to do.”

Phil opened a liquor cabinet, dumped whiskey into both coffees, and offered the second mug to Brock. “I’ve known that since you took him out to the cabin. Hell, Clint noticed. But I don’t think either of us figured you did.”

“Hey.” It’s an ineffectual protest, and he accepted the mug and took a drink.

“Just saying.” He leaned on the edge of the desk and looked at Brock. “And I’m not exactly the grand giver of love advice.”

“You’re married to someone you’ve been with for the better part of two decades.” He scoffed, claiming one of Phil’s chairs and sprawling, rubbing at his arm that was still in a cast (though a fancy-dancy 3D printed number that Stark had had done, apparently appalled to see one of Steve’s people in plaster).

“And my other long-term relationship got me fucked over four ways from Sunday.” Phil countered.

“Yeah, but at least that had good times.”

“What do you want?”

The bluntness of the question threw him. “I don’t know.”

“You need to figure that out first. I know you’ve gone through some shit that…” He cut himself off and shook his head. “If Peirce hadn’t been dead already I would have killed him for what he did to you, know that.”

“That’s part of the problem. I’m not sure I want anyone touching me again. Call me gunshy I guess.”

“You’re not gunshy you’re fucking traumatized. Stop minimizing what happened or removing your right to actually process that. It’s a perfectly legitimate way to feel. But that’s besides the point. You don’t have to do anything or even want to. I don’t know where Rogers’ head is at and I can only guess what’s going to happen when he and the Soldier get close enough to realize they can synergize with each other.”

“Oh shit.” Brock blinked. “Yeah I can’t fuck with that, that’s…”

“I’m not saying you would. I’m just saying, the man has a lot of shit he’s trying to process. And honestly, you having feelings for him might just be the most natural thing. He’s been an ultimate force of good in your life during a desperately needed time. Can you be happy just loving him? Or do you need to pull away? Because I can step in and put distance there if you need it, no matter what Steve says about it. Okay? Trust me to have your back on that.”

“No. I don’t want to be moved, I just. Do I fucking deserve this?”

“To be daffy in love with one of the most handsome men in the nation who trusts you with his life? Well why not?”

“Sometimes I really don’t like you.”

Phil scoffed and drained half his boozed coffee in a swallow. “Oh, please.”

“This has not exactly been as helpful as I hoped.” He slouched more.

“What, I’m not going to tell you to stand outside his apartment with a boombox. So you’re ride or die. He needs people like that. What matters more is, are you happy?”

“I think so.”

“Then maybe that’s enough.”

* * *

And the thing is, he is happy.

Things settle in, bit by bit. He helps put together two full strike teams to support the Avengers and becomes effectively Steve’s second in command with regard to the dogs (he doesn’t have much to do with the Avengers and they seem to understand he doesn’t take orders from them, but he’ll listen). They all stay in New York and Stark houses them all in the tower, they don’t have their own floors but they have nice little apartments, anyway. Coulson buys a goddamn distillery and it somehow becomes a home for dogs, and around politics and everything else, they all seem fine.

He buys himself a nice camera and a wardrobe that’s not entirely centered around work. He heals, though his face will never be the same again. He’s something of a noticeable figure now and the media definitely notes him, especially since he’s often half a step behind and to the side of Steve Rogers. Steve just tells the media that Brock’s his strike commander and leaves it at that. Some weird corner of the internet starts calling them Beauty and the Beast and god fucking help him but that is hilarious.

But other people on the internet have noticed that he has a twitter and an Instagram account now and uses them to post his photography and never really say anything besides the location and date of the picture. Sometimes the Avengers are in them, or other dogs.

Peirce would have called all of this ‘useless distractions’ and knowing that just makes him invest more time into it out of pure spite.

He somehow gets the nickname Crossbones, from HYDRA people of all things, and he embraces it. Honestly he’s more than willing to be their nightmare, they can call him names all they fuckin want.

And yeah he keeps his feelings to himself. Steve’s got enough on his plate, and the kind contact he gets in passing is balm enough on his battered soul and heart. It’s enough.

Then a goddamn picture spreads like wildfire on the dumbass internet and he ends up spilling it all anyway.

* * *

The public is sort-of getting used to dogs more, especially since Coulson made everything as public as he could. That said, the whole synergy thing hadn’t really been discussed publicly. It was in the data dump in detail probably but everyone had just silently decided that they were keeping that ace up their sleeve for as long as they could.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem, except Brock went for a run with Steve one late morning. That is to say, Steve went on a leisurely jog and Brock kept up and tried not to die. They did their usual circuit and stopped outside of Avengers tower after, Brock leaning on his knees breathing hard and swearing at Steve friendly-like as usual while Steve only laughed and helped him straighten back up, but then Steve caught the back of his neck and pulled him in, leaning their foreheads together. Brock melted into the contact, which only lasted a few seconds but he’ll take his silent good-boy praise as it comes thank you very much. Then he was released and they went inside, talking cheerfully.

There had been a paparazzi outside, who had gotten pictures of them. And they were published far and wide within an hour, and fuck if they didn’t look pretty intimate.

So, short of it. Brock Rumlow is now responsible for the media screaming that Captain America is gay.

* * *

“This is so unbelievably dumb that I can’t structure a proper response.” It was Bruce Banner that stated that flatly, head in his hands. Brock had been hauled up to the ridiculously ostentatious penthouse to be told about this pseudo-scandal.

Clint, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically. Honestly Brock wasn’t sure which was a better reaction to this clusterfuck.

“It isn’t like we’re kissing.” Steve grumbled this, endlessly scrolling a tablet staring at twitter.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, you almost might as well be. Hell two of these pictures make it look like you are. We know it’s dog stuff. The public doesn’t.” Tony told him.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do about this.” Brock is honestly irritated how good the photos are and is strongly considering printing one for his desk in his apartment. “I’m not issuing a media statement, don’t ask me to, I don’t do that shit.”

“Yeah, that’s like letting Clint talk to the media, we know it’s not a great idea.”

“Hey.” Clint pouted.

“I guess I could issue a statement but we really didn’t want to blow the whole synergy thing public. And even if I do it’ll sound insane. Oh, yeah don’t mind us, dogs are limited telepaths and we were having a moment, it’s actually normal behavior for us. Completely true and sounds nuts. Oh, and it’ll still sound like some kind of same sex romance thing to these morons.” Steve sat back and stared at the ceiling. “Why do they even care about my sexuality. I’m not going to be fucking any of them.”

Brock about choked on his own spit then burst into laughter.

“Please issue that as your statement. I will happily pay the financial cost of that media fallout.” Tony looked absolutely delighted.

“How about just ‘Captain America says mind your own business.’ Can we just issue that?”

“Oh we absolutely can, but they’ll take that as confirming what they think, you know that right?”

“They’ll take anything I say as confirmation including denial.” Steve snorted and looked at Brock. “Are you alright with that statement because yeah, this impacts you as much as it does me.”

“First of all, I don’t have the reputation to ruin that you do.” He pointed out with an eyebrow lifted. “You’re America’s Golden Boy, I’m your enforcer that got nicknamed Beast. Second of all, oh no, the media thinks I love someone I love. Holy shit. Stop the presses.”

There was a long dead silence and Bruce put a hand like he was in a fucking class. “Was that supposed to be out loud? I heard that right?”

“Well shit.” He rubbed his face. “Yeah, okay. I did just say that. Whatever. Me and half the planet I’m certain.”

“You are a ridiculous man.” It was Steve that said that, but he was smiling though.

“Platonic, alright, I’m too jacked in the head because of Peirce for anything else.”

“Okay.”

“Is this supposed to be out loud?” Bruce repeated. “Because we’re all still here.”

“I’m live texting all of this to Phil, holy shit.” Clint was giggling, thumbs flying on his phone.

“I hate you all. Except you, Steve. Obviously. Release whatever statement you want.” He sat back and spread his arms in a wide shrug. “Look, it’s not new information that I’m ride or die for you, so let’s not make this any more awkward and stupid than this already is.”

“I honestly can’t decide if this is really healthy or the least healthy thing I’ve heard today and that’s coming from me.” Tony was staring at Brock with his head tipped slightly.

“I ain’t here to be judged by you.” He snorted and stood. “Also your décor is creepy and I hate it. Fuckin sterile in here. Get some house plants, holy shit.”

“Okay he’s not wrong.” Steve conceded. “We could use some plants in here. Maybe an aquarium.”

“I can’t trust Clint not to somehow end up inside the aquarium but I’ll look into plants.”

“Hey, that’s out of line, why the hell would I end up in an aquarium?” Clint spluttered.

“Why the hell do you end up anywhere, Hawkass?”

Steve stood. “Just put my statement on twitter, Tony. The media can deal with it.”

“Oh, I doubt they can but they’ll just have to suffer.”

Brock was just fine with Steve walking out with him, but glanced sideways at him. “You know how this looks to all of them.”

“Oh, please.” Steve scoffed, hitting the elevator button. “We need to talk.”

“Please no. I said my piece. Shouldn’t have. Sorry about that.”

“And this is why we need to talk.”

He groaned and lolled his head back as the elevator opened. “Fucking really? I’ve been mostly good lately I don’t deserve this.”

“Jesus you asshole, it’s a talk, not a death sentence!” He stepped on as Brock did. “Excuse me for thinking the fact that you have feelings for me involves me!”

“Okay, I guess that’s fair but I got nothing else to say. It is what it is.”

“My floor.” The elevator closed and started to move, and Steve rubbed his eyes. “Private the camera, JARVIS, and if Tony asks why tell him he can mind his own business too.”

“What?” He doesn’t get any farther because he’s shoved to the wall of the elevator, Steve’s hands holding his wrists to the wall and this is the weirdest fucking echo their Triskelion fight that he could have ever imagined and honestly he hadn’t even gone there in his own head because it’s a Mr. Fantastic level stretch but nevermind, here’s reality in all its baffling details and Steve is kissing him.

Steve is kissing him and his synergy feels like an inside-out full body caress and he’d say he’s ruined but he already has been, multiple times, what’s one more?

He’s released when the elevator stops and he’s really, just, super grateful for the wall behind him. “What?” The only word he can now say, or something, whatever his neurons are freshly scrambled.

“Had to know.” Steve shrugged, smiling a bit. “Want to play Mario Kart?”

“… Yeah, okay. Sure. Is that a metaphor?”

“No, dumbass, come in and play Mario Kart with me.”

“Oh, I’m the dumbass, you’re the one who decided to memorize my tonsils but okay, I’m the one out of line here.” He followed anyway.

* * *

And that was it, really.

Something established between them, though Brock and Steve couldn’t really define it. The internet and the public in general slowly died down, mostly. Steve didn’t give them any ammunition. If they leaned on each other playing video games that was their business, not that of the public or the media, or even their friends really.

And honestly? Brock was fine with it. Hell, for the first time in a long time, he was pretty sure he was loved. A weird mostly platonic love, but yeah.

And eventually things would go to shit and Bucky would be found and set off a shitstorm that made the Avengers start turning on each other until Coulson showed up to scream about how disappointed he is in all of them. But, that was later. In the meantime, a whole hell of a lot of HYDRA members found out the hard way that a Brock Rumlow motivated by love was a hell of a lot more dangerous than one motivated by pain.

It wasn’t really a traditional happy ending. But he took it, with a glad smile. It was enough.


End file.
